


Spring Fever

by Maiden_of_Asgard



Category: Loki - Fandom, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Breeding Kink, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Mating Bond, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:22:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23471653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maiden_of_Asgard/pseuds/Maiden_of_Asgard
Summary: It's springtime in Utgard.
Relationships: Loki (Marvel)/Reader, Loki/In-Unga
Comments: 22
Kudos: 413
Collections: Flurries - The World of Frostbite





	Spring Fever

It’s springtime in Utgard. 

What that means is that, while it’s still incredibly cold, it isn’t quite as unbearable as usual. The sun manages to shove its way through the clouds more often, and the snow on the ground isn’t quite as deep. The plants in Býleistr’s greenhouse have begun to sprout, tiny green leaves unfurling to soak up every drop of light. 

You know this because you visit the greenhouse often; it’s one of the warmest places in the palace. Loki pretends to be irritated, but you know he doesn’t mind. If he did, he wouldn’t have gone to all the effort of having it built in the first place. 

Today, you sit in the greenhouse with Býleistr and Gjálp, a bouncing, gurgling Jötunn baby on your lap. The canyon-giantess Nahts has finally been able to accept your invitation to come and visit Utgard, and once she’d seen how smitten you were with her little Jugun, she’d plopped her in your arms and practically skipped off to the banquet hall. “You are a Jötunn queen, now,” she’d told you, “and I am certain that Juju will be safe in your care.”

In all fairness, you  _ have  _ been begging to see her for months; you’re her namesake, after all.  _ Jugunþō, _ Audawiniz had written in the message to Utgard announcing the birth of his newest grandchild, means ‘youth.’ You wonder if you are the first human to ever have a giant named in their honor. 

Jugun is an adorable baby, and you’re thrilled to have the opportunity to spoil her, even though you’re a little terrified, too. Your biggest concern, at first, was simply her weight. While she isn’t all  _ that _ much larger than a human baby, when she was first placed in your arms, you wondered for a moment if Jötunn babies were made of solid lead. Retreating to the greenhouse, where you can sit and hold her, had been a wonderful idea. You have Gjálp to thank for that one, though you wouldn’t be surprised if she was just scheming to get more relatively-alone time with Býleistr. 

You’ve still seen only a handful of infants during your time on Jotunheim, and from what you can tell, Jugun’s chubby little face and limbs are a characteristic shared by most Jötunn babies. It’s probably something to do with the climate, you imagine - an extra layer to keep them warm and well-insulated while they’re at their most vulnerable. 

Jugun seems very cheerful, with intelligent, dark-violet eyes and a few wisps of black hair on her head. The patterns on her skin are faint, but you can already see the similarities to those of her mother and father. She gurgles and grabs for your fingers when you tickle her, her toothless little grin melting your heart. “Isn’t she the cutest thing in the world?” you ask the others, booping her on the nose and laughing when she looks perplexed. 

“She is,” Gjálp agrees, but Býleistr only rolls his eyes and goes back to watering his plants. 

“They cannot  _ do  _ anything,” he says. “What could possibly be so entertaining?”

“Maybe if you’d hold her, you’d see.”

He shakes his head. “She is too small,” he says. 

“Believe me, she’s sturdier than she looks.” As if to affirm your point, Jugun yanks on your hair. “Ouch, Juju!” you cry. “I’m trying to brag on you, and this is how you repay me?”

She giggles. 

“You  _ do _ realize that this is why nursemaids exist?” Býleistr says. 

“Nahts and Straumaz seem like they enjoy being hands-on parents,” you reply. “What’s wrong with that?”

“Father would have never carried us the way Lady Nahts’ husband carries their child,” Gjálp says. “I do not believe that Father regularly saw us before we were old enough to walk, in fact.”

“He never held you?”

“No.” 

“My father held me before the court,” Býleistr says. “The privilege of being one of his male heirs. The Lesser Children of Laufey never received such treatment.”

“Seriously?” If you had a veritable horde of adorable little kids like Jugunþō, you’d probably spend more time with them than with your court. “Getting held by your parents shouldn’t be a privilege.”

“It isn’t uncommon for noblewomen to foist their offspring off nursemaids, as well. A less prestigious relative or member of the clan might take on the task.” He sits down on the bench across from you, stretching out his legs. “It is different for ordinary folk, I suppose.”

Jugun likes staring up at the particles of dust floating in the streams of light spilling through the greenhouse windows. She waves her hand, trying to capture them, but she’s got a long way to go before her impressive Frost Giant coordination develops. It seems to irritate her, and she squeaks in discontent.

“Don’t worry, little darling,” Gjálp says, offering her finger for Jugun to grasp, instead. “You will be quite fearsome someday, and nothing will evade you.”

“My queen, my bodyguard, and my brother, all hiding away together.”

You turn at Loki’s voice, beaming up at him as he emerges through the plants, swatting their leaves away. He’s doing a wonderful job of looking aloof and regal, but you know him far too well to fall for the tough-guy act. “Hey, Majesty,” you say. “Look who I’ve got!”

Loki settles down beside you. “You aren’t in here conspiring against me, are you?” he asks, leaning over to admire the squeaky little bundle in your arms. “Your newest compatriot does seem quite fearsome.”

“Escaping the court?”

“Of course,” he says. 

He looks a bit distracted, so you figure it must be another hectic day in the throne room. Spring has been a little odd, so far; it’s only a few days into the season, but there’s a definite flavor of tension in the air. It isn’t anything menacing, really. It’s just… different.  _ Refreshed,  _ like there’s a new sort of energy in the air - one you haven’t encountered. 

“Do you want to stay for awhile?” You lean against his shoulder, sighing happily. Somehow, he smells even better than usual, which you didn’t even realize was a possibility. “You can join the greenhouse gang, take a break from all the kingly business.”

“I wish that I could. I simply wanted to check in and see you for a moment.” He kisses your cheek when he stands, and you catch a glimpse of Býleistr making a face behind him. “I have to go visit the construction along the north wall this afternoon, but I will be back in time for dinner.”

“Good,” Býleistr says. “It wouldn’t do to have the entire court waiting for you, would it?”

“You know,  _ dear _ little brother, that I could rightfully send you to bed without dinner at all, don’t you?”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“I certainly would—”

“That’s enough,” you interrupt. “Get back to work, Loki. Býleistr… water some more plants, or something.”

“As Her Majesty commands,” Býleistr says, somehow managing to make even his bow sarcastic before he ambles off into his rows of greenery. 

_ That’s right,  _ you think, winking at Gjálp, who looks like the entire exchange has left her on the verge of giggles, _ as I command. _

~

The odd sort of energy is still very much present all throughout dinner. The giants are a bit more rowdy than usual, with more arguments and showing-off - and even a little singing. It’s a little weird, but you figure that everyone is just happy that the long winter is finally fading into something a bit more tolerable. 

And Loki won’t keep his hands off of you… not that him finding sneaky ways to touch you even in front of the court is exactly unusual. You’re enjoying the attention, and you squeeze his thigh beneath the table, smiling when he lets out a frustrated, barely-audible sigh.

Getting him riled-up during the day is usually a  _ surefire _ way to guarantee that he’ll practically haul you off to ravish you once court is dismissed for the evening, and you’re in the perfect mood for it, so you’re taken aback when Loki seems almost abashed when you retire to the royal chambers at the end of the night. 

You can tell he’s already turned on, so when he doesn’t immediately melt into your embrace when you kiss him, you frown. “What’s going on, Loki? Is something wrong?”

“No, of course not.”

“Then…?”

Loki closes his eyes. His cheeks are slightly flushed. “Between the season and seeing you so sweet and nurturing,” he says, “I cannot help but to imagine how it would be to see you with our child.” He opens his eyes. They’re dark, and your stomach flutters. “To  _ create _ our child.”

“Oh.” You lick your lips, which seems to transfix him. 

“I know that it is much earlier than we’d planned,” he hurries to add, “and I do not want to give the impression that I wish to rush you, darling—”

“The spell still works just as well, right?” you interrupt. “I mean, you’re saying the season has you all… riled up? That’s a thing?”

“So it would seem. The spell remains unchanged. It is simply my urges that are becoming more… specific.” 

The poor guy looks like he’s caught somewhere between horny and hopeful and even a little mortified. “Well,” you tell him, taking his face in your hands, “if we’ve still got the spell as protection, there’s no harm in pretending, is there?”

He leans into your touch. “Meaning?”

Now your cheeks are starting to burn, too. You clear your throat. “I mean, I like the idea of  _ that,  _ too.”

“Do you?”

“Mhmm.” You take a step back, shrugging off your cloak. “So, sire, what are you going to do about that, hmm?”

All signs of doubt have faded from his expression, replaced by a wicked sort of delight. You’re waiting for him to make some kind of clever quip, so you’re entirely unprepared when he pounces, tossing you over his shoulder like some kind of caveman as he strides towards the bedchamber. He slams the door open with so much force that you wouldn’t be surprised if it sustains a few lasting cracks, and he throws you down on the bed.

You’re breathless, unable to do much to save your poor clothes before he quite literally rips them off of you. You try to help with getting him naked, because you  _ really _ don’t think it’s fair if you don’t get to see him gloriously nude, too, but Loki pins your wrists to the bed with one hand, using the other to undress himself with his magic.

_ Need to learn that trick,  _ you note.

He descends on you in a ravenous flurry of kisses and little nips of his teeth against your sensitive skin, sliding an arm under you to haul you further up on the bed so that he can comfortably settle on top of you. Lavishing attention on your breasts seems to slow him down for a moment, almost like he’s been distracted from his original frenzied desires.

“I want to put a baby in you, dröttning,” he whispers against your skin, and then he looks up, his cheeks flushed. “I’m sorry. Is that… too much?”

You comb your fingers through his hair. “No,” you assure him. “Not at all.”

“Wonderful,” he says, peppering more kisses down your belly. “I will tell you, then, that I have been dreaming of the day when I can make you a mother. You’ll be glowing - I’ll make sure of it. Anything your heart desires, you will have.”

“You already give me anything my heart desires—”

“More, then.” Your back arches, pressing your center against his tongue as his fingers pump into you, slowly at first, to test your readiness, then more roughly when he finds you already wet and aching for him. He presses your thighs down to stop your wiggling, his grip bruising as he pauses to bite down on the soft flesh of your inner thigh. “Queen Mother of Jotunheim,” he says, and his voice is such a low rasp that it sends shivers down your spine. “I’ll lay worlds at your feet. Our sons and daughters will rule this world.”

You don’t know how he manages to keep such a coherent train of thought when he’s making you feel like  _ this, _ but you certainly aren’t complaining. You aren’t quite as eloquent, though, so you settle for some encouragingly enthusiastic cursing, peppered with occasional pants of,  _ “Yes, please,” _ and,  _ “Oh, God, Loki—” _

He gives no warning before he sheathes himself inside of you, and as always, it takes you a moment to adjust to the wonderful intrusion, the stretch as your body greedily accommodates him. You sink your nails into his buttocks, craving movement, craving  _ more. _

“You want to please your king, don’t you?” Loki demands roughly, a feral sort of smile on his lips as you writhe beneath him. “I would keep you in this bed until you quicken with my child, little queen. Your belly will grow, and all the Nine will know that you are  _ mine.” _

“Yes,” you breathe. “Yes.”

“My goddess,” he says. “All will worship you. All will  _ revere _ you.”

_ “Sire,” _ you moan, locking your legs around his waist like a vice. Loki wraps a hand around the back of your neck, holding you close as he devours your lips, his other hand beneath your waist. He’s crushing you against him as he pins you to the mattress, and it’s overwhelmingly exhilarating. “Loki, come in me, please.  _ Please.” _

He’s buried deep inside of you when he comes, holding you still and trapped as you cry out and clench around him, desperately trying to rock your hips to lengthen your climax. Your cries and whines turn petulant as he pins your hands by your head, depriving you of the luxury of touching him, and he growls in your ear. 

“Did you think that I was finished with you, mortal?”

“Loki—”

He barely pulls out long enough to flip you onto your stomach, and then he’s taking you again with just as much vigor, his arm wrapped around your neck as he whispers delicious obscenities and praise into your ear. “You are  _ dripping, _ my treasure,” he tells you. His mouth moves to cover the mate-mark, and you feel like something inside of you short-circuits; you can’t remember how to breathe, and you don’t really mind.

The pillow beneath you muffles your climax, this time, and as you bite down on it, you wish that you could bite down on Loki, instead. He seems to take pity on your plight, and he releases his firm hold around your neck, allowing you to sink your teeth into his forearm. He hisses, and you snarl right back at him, feeling positively feral.

The bed is already a terrible mess, every thrust of his hips pumping his seed deeper, the excess trickling down your thighs. You’re so full that you don’t know how you can possibly accommodate any more of him, but that doesn’t make you crave it any less. 

“My beautiful mate,” he growls, “with your  _ beautiful _ breasts and hips and thighs. Every inch of you is perfect. Every little whimper from those pretty lips,” he continues, punctuating every word with a hard thrust, “is  _ perfect.” _

“Loki,” you cry, and it becomes almost like a prayer, whispered over and over and over again. “I  _ need _ it, Loki.”

“What do you need?”

You have a fleeting suspicion that he’s getting you back for the last time you made him beg, but the thought is gone in a moment when his hand moves back between your legs, teasing you right back to the edge.  _ “You. _ I need to come with you.”

There is no sound in the world that will ever compare to your name on Loki’s lips when he spills deep inside you, clinging to you like a second skin as you shudder and tremble through your own orgasm, breathless and sweaty and hypersensitive, every nerve on fire. “My good girl,” he soothes, licking one of the spots on your neck that he’d bitten a bit more forcefully than usual. “My sweet, exquisite little queen.”

The muscles in your thighs are done for, and tremors continue to rock through you as you catch your breath. “I love you,” you whisper softly, feeling that little flutter of post-coital tristesse that often follows your rougher encounters.

“And I love you,” Loki tells you, kissing your ear, your hair, your cheek. He’s a little breathless, too, which fills you with pride, and you shiver when he chuckles, his lips still pressed against your skin. “I am going to sleep like this, queen of my heart,” he says, “still inside of you.”

You’re too tired to think of anything suitably moving and profound to say, any way to express how it feels to have him covering you,  _ inside _ of you, lavishing you with affection and praise… so you settle for a pleased little hum of contentment. Loki rolls to the side, carefully holding you flush against him, his legs twining with yours as he spoons you. 

“Feels good,” you mumble sleepily.

“So  _ warm,” _ he replies, nuzzling your hair. “Perfect.”

“You, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE ACCEPT THIS SMUT AS A TOKEN OF MY LOVE 💙 I miss Frostbite Fridays so much, and I’ve had several Tumblr asks I’ve been holding onto for a while now that inspired this, so it seemed like a perfect time to revisit Loki and In-Unga!


End file.
